The river
by Murphy019
Summary: Lost and injured on a river bank, two brothers wait for rescue.


**Authors Note: Hey everyone. So this is the first thing I have written in probably 4 or so years. So to say I'm a little rusty is a bit of an understatement. But I wanted to give it another try and came up with this. Obviously the first time I've written in this fandom, but I've enjoyed reading all your wonderful stories for awhile. I hope you enjoy my little addition, feel free to leave feedback, even if it's "Oh goodness please never write again." after all I am posting for an honest opinion. ;)**

The river rose, dark and menacing. A foe that lapped hungrily at their feet, slapped against its swollen banks, roared its desire for destruction as it rushed past in a swirling mass. Debris knocked loose in the most recent storm flowed past quickly. Tree branches. Parts of an old barn. Even a dead cow. A mindless mass of shapeless objects. All taken by the river.

The wind blew. Another foe. Cold and unrelenting, stealing breath from frozen bodies and running away again with a harsh laugh. It followed along behind the river, hustling in cold and darkness, biting through clothing, ripping skin with its teeth. Carrying away leaves, branches, a small sapling, anything not tied down. And always with that damn laugh. Shrieking through the trees, blowing across the water. At least the river didn't laugh.

An especially strong gust of wind blew suddenly, causing the one conscious man to shiver. He had managed to pull both his friend and himself from the icy water. Up the empty desolate bank till they were just out of reach of the black water. Collapsing against an old tree that lay half buried in the mud, he pulled his friend up into his lap, held him clasped tightly in his arms. At first he tried to speak, whispering words of comfort and encouragement to the slumped form pressed against him. But his throat was raw and the words died just as they were given birth.

Besides, living up to his stubborn nature, the body in front of him gave no indication of having heard the half desperate words. They went unanswered, chased away by the wind. Only a faint gasping his only comfort.

As time went by the man found it more and more difficult to keep up the string of coherency falling from his lips, so he fell silent. Putting all of his attention on the hand pressed tight against his friend's side. He lifted it slightly and groaned when dark blood bubbled up and flowed sluggishly from the deep hole.

Sorrow crawled up the man's throat. And his vision blurred. For he was; at heart, a protector. The one who stood tall in front of diversity and eagerly placed himself in the line of fire, protecting the innocent. The harmless. But most importantly, protecting his brothers.

Time and time again, he had stood victorious. Using little more than his strength he had carried his brother's home from countless battle fields. Shielded them from harm. Gave comfort in their weakest, darkest moments. The rock that they could always lean on, even when he himself fell injured or sick or fell into his own dark place. It killed him to think that this time, his strength might not be enough.

He could not defeat this most deadly of foes.

That was why the river roared.

And the wind laughed.

They knew what he did not want to admit. That both he and his friend were quickly running out of time. And as time slipped away death slipped closer, sneaking along silently, threatening at the corner of his blurry vision. Dripped red and dark from his friend's side, over his fingers and on the ground. Could be heard in the screaming wind. And felt in the heavy pull of the water as it reached for the two frozen forms

A growl was pulled from his lips. Faint, just a fraction of his usual strength. But still fierce, still filled with a protective fire that for a moment filled his limbs with life. Almost defiantly he pulled his friend in closer, leaning down to once again whisper.

"Hold on. Hold on. Hold on."

A small groan, barely there was his reward. Almost lost to the night and the wind and the rain that had started falling again. But he heard, and he grinned, a comfort and peace enveloping him and for a moment he dropped his head against his friend's dark hair. One breath. Two. Three.

He knew what was needed of him.

He could not fight this foe with a sword. Nor with his legendary muscles. His laughter, loud and gleeful, could not chase away this darkness. Death cannot be killed. But he could hold on. He could shield his friend from the wind. Hold him tight against the angry grip of the river. His palm could contain the precious blood that seeped. For he knew, that even now, the others would be coming.

For that was what they did for one another. When one went the others followed. An almost supernatural pull leading them to one another. If he could just keep them both alive a little bit longer. Through the night. The others would come. They always came.

"Hold on. Hold on. Hold on."

He was the protector. He could not chase this foe away. Could not kill it, or contain it. Could not even hold death from his friend forever. But he could delay it. Until the others came. With their own strength and prayers and warmth. He owed it to them and the man in his arms. He owed it to himself. He was the protector and so he would protect.

The river roared.

The wind laughed.

The rain fell.

And death waited.


End file.
